A day in the life of Loki
by BlackLaceWeaver
Summary: All Gabriel wanted was a day off from the stressful job of being a Trickster. That was the plan anyway; it all fell apart when the perfect target stormed in and started abusing the poor working staff.


Waffles. By far humanity's greatest creation. And the Maison Dandoy in Brussels served the best of the best. Gabriel would know- he'd been a regular customer since they'd opened and each time they'd never failed to delight. A good cup of creamy, rich hot chocolate and the best waffles in the world; the perfect combination for taking a break from his strenuous occupation. Punishing the villainous, wretched, scourge of humanity was hard work- it took time to come up with the perfect retribution, not to mention energy!

'It's a gruelling job' Gabriel thought to himself as he took a sip of the delicious hot chocolate 'but someone has to do it.' And speaking of…. Whiskey coloured eyes narrowed as a man stormed in, dressed to the nines and an expression screaming 'smug superiority'. Said man advanced angrily upon the poor waitress behind the counter.

"I asked for two Liege waffles, not the Belgian ones you silly cow! I know you're clearly unintelligent if you're working in a waffle shop, but I would've expected you to know the difference." He snarled at her, flinging a bag down on the counter. The poor waitress was attempting to stammer out an apology, but Mr High-and-Mighty was having none of it.

"I'll have you fired for this! I can you know, I'm The Manager of"- he paused and began to puff up on his over inflated ego- "Proximus! And I have a very important meeting which I'm now late for, because you're too stupid to get even the most basic order right! I'll have you fired!" The entire café stared as the man repeated his threat, before whirling around and storming out the door. The waitress was blinking back tears as she served the next customer.

Gabriel pursed his lips as he watched the man stride down the street, screaming at an unsuspecting passer-by who dared walk too slow in front of him. He was thoroughly annoyed at having his nice relaxing meal interrupted by such an unpleasant encounter. He'd seen the man's soul as he'd been screaming at the waitress and was unsurprised at how corrupt it was. Not only was he an arse to overworked waitresses, he was apparently cheating on his wife too. With his secretary. How terribly cliché. He deserved to be punished, if only for his crippling unoriginality.

Gabriel sighed as he began to plan an appropriate just-deserts. 'No rest for the wicked' indeed.

...

Mr Tweed had been having a horrible day. He'd been late for his important business meeting as the clearly inbred moron working at the café had gotten his order wrong, then at lunch his secretary had called in tears saying her boyfriend suspected something. He'd hung up on her; it wasn't his concern if the idiotic woman was regretting their relationship now. If she was stupid enough to believe him when he promised her he'd leave his wife to live with her then she deserved whatever trouble she got. It wasn't his fault. She was a dim-witted fool anyway; it certainly wasn't her brains that had encouraged him to start an affair with her. To top it off he'd received extra paperwork just before he planned to go home, meaning he had to stay late.

He'd nearly finished and his temper was simmering below boiling. He was The Manager for goodness sake! Surely some underling should be able to deal with paper work, he was far too important! He resolved to find out who was responsible for making him work extra hours and have them fired. Which he could do. Because he was The Manager.

The lights in the room flickered and the flames of his temper licked higher. Someone in maintenance department was getting fired; he was The Manager! The appliances in his office should work perfectly!

The lights flickered again. Mr Tweed slammed his hands down on the counter and stood up, determined to find someone to face his wrath. Storming out his office he marched down the corridor, intent on finding a suitable victim he could lay into. A couple of minutes later he came to a halt, breathing like a winded bull. The office was eerily deserted. He hadn't passed a single soul. 'Stupid lazy workers. If I, The Manager, am working, then they should be too! I'll dock their pay, the ingrates! Clearly they don't care about this company!' His mental tirade cut off abruptly as he heard a low sound coming from further down the corridor. 'At least one person is here' He thought furiously as he walked determinedly towards the noise. His footsteps slowed as he got closer. Was that… mooing? His movements were a lot less purposeful as he pushed open the door to the room the noise was coming from. The sight that greeted him left him stunned. In door had opened onto a field, standing in which was a cow. A Chianina bull to be exact. The animals head swung towards him as he entered, before it reared up to stand on two legs. A frown marked its bovine features. 'I didn't think it was possible for cows to look disapproving' Mr Tweed thought faintly.

"Ah there you are Mr Tweed. I'm utterly disappointed in your performance this year. You've been completely average! I am the owner of this company you know, I can have you fired!" Mr Tweed recoiled in horror; the bull sounded exactly like Mr Van Houten, the owner of the company. "Really you should be grateful I decided to take a pitiful creature like you on, you're hardly worth the money we pay you. I don't know why your wife puts up with you, she could easily do better. As it is you're being demoted. I'm putting your secretary in charge, she's clearly more suited to the job than you are."

Mr Tweed mind was whirling. What on earth was going on? Why did this cow sound like Mr Van Houten? He then registered what the bull had said and paled in horror. "No, you can't put her in charge! She's an idiot, I'm so much better than her; I'm better than everyone here! I'm The Manager…" It was at that point he realised that he was arguing with a cow in a field in the middle of his work place. He rubbed his eyes frantically, startled to see that when he opened his eyes he was facing a supply cupboard. There was no sign of the field with the cow. 'I must be going mad' he thought desperately 'Yes that's it. Being The Manager is a stressful job!'

Mr Tweed backed out of the cupboard and turned around, blanching again as he came face to face with his wife. She wasn't alone. Standing next to her with an arm wrapped around her waist was an absolutely gorgeous specimen of a man. Mr Tweed began spluttering like a landed fish "Sarah! What are you doing here? Who is he? Are you cheating on me?"

Sarah laughed cruelly "Oh you're one to talk, Mr Kettle. The secretary, really? I guess I should've expected as much from a pathetic man like yourself. Everyone always told me I was settling when I married you. It's true. At least I have better now" With that she turned and passionately kissed the Greek God next to her.

Mr Tweed just stood there, his mouth hanging open. He couldn't believe what was happening. What his wife said wasn't true, he was so much better than she was! He was better than anybody! He was The Manager of a famous company!

He walked away from his wife towards the elevator, trying to get away from the words ringing in his ears. He flinched as a door next to him was suddenly flung open. Standing in the doorway was a very tall muscled man dressed in an expensive suit.

"Ah David, long time no see! Don't you remember me? It's Timothy Kirin." Mr Tweed stopped, staring. It couldn't be! Timothy had been one of the children he'd bullied at school; a short, weak little boy who hadn't really been good at anything. "I've changed a lot since school haven't I? I own my own company now; I'm in Forbes top 100!" Timothy laughed, his pearly white perfect teeth gleaming. It couldn't be! No way was the scraggily nobody more successful than him- he was A Manager! "I thought I'd pay you a visit, re-enact some of your favourite 'pranks'. What do you say, Dave?" Mr Tweed squeaked as Timothy advanced on him, a wicked smile on his face.

Mr Tweed was suddenly eleven years old again, and surrounded by his old school peers; the ones he'd enjoyed tormenting and putting down in his day. They all grinned nastily at him, before they grabbed him and started dragging him away.

"What do you say we flush his head down the toilet? He always enjoyed doing that to me!" One voice shouted excitedly.

"We could do that? Or what about hanging him by his trousers in front of the Principles office? That was an old favourite too!" Another replied.

"We could superglue his hand to a desk!"

"What about locking him in a cupboard for a day?"

"Haha, that would be funny! It was when he did it to us! Or how about we shave his head?" The voices began blurring together as they each called out suggestions to one another. Mr Tweed struggled futilely, desperately trying to break free.

"No, you can't do that to me! I'm The Manager! I'm successful! Nooo!" His desperate screams continued as he was carried away.

...

Gabriel smirked as he surveyed the fruits of his labour whilst snacking on a kit kat. 'Hardly my most original; then again, such painfully clichéd crimes don't deserve much finesse' He smiled as the pitiful whining of Mr Tweed grew louder; he was curled up at his desk, hands batting frantically at empty air. Standing next to him was his secretary, who was ringing for an ambulance whilst staring at her clearly insane boss. A crowd of workers all stood in the doorway, gleefully watching their slave-driver of a manager having a breakdown.

Gabriel laughed. His job was indeed hard, but seeing the results made him sure it was worth it. His work here now done, he snapped his fingers and vanished.


End file.
